by silkstockingslover 10/24/12
"Oh my," I said, surprised by the full scope of the job.
Another look at my dangling heel, he continued, "I travel a lot and I need someone who has the flexibility to be able to travel a lot and often with almost no warning."
Again the scope was extreme, but I thought to myself that I had no current life or weekly expectations, and I loved traveling, and had not left the state since Alan passed, except for checking out Berkeley with Ellie. Allowing my heel to hit the floor I answered, "Well, I do love to travel."
It was obvious this time that he was checking my stocking-clad foot. He asked, still looking down, "And the on call aspect?"
I reached down for my heel, but stopped as he ordered, "Leave it there, Amanda."
I could sense the shift in the interview, as I obeyed sitting back on the chair. "Well, the kids are gone, so I really have no commitments."
His eyes finally returned to me. "And you are widowed, correct?"
"Yes," I admitted, before adding, "Five years now."
No fake condolences, like I usually received, as he pushed further. My uncovered toes clearly a distraction to him. "You will answer your cell phone no matter the time of day or night," he explained, his tone no nonsense.
Realizing the flavor of the interview had changed, I answered, now more flirty than professional, "That goes without saying."
He asked, eyebrow raised, "Are you sure you can handle this? Many have quit due to the overbearing workload."
Staring at him, I slowly uncrossed my legs. If he was looking closely he would notice that I was not wearing panties. After a brief delay, I readjusted, crossing my legs the other way. What should have taken two or three seconds, took fifteen or twenty as I attempted to imply my desire through my actions, my teasing. I replied, allowing my other heel to dangle, a mixture of sweetness, seductiveness and confidence, "I am capable of almost anything. I am a very determined woman who always gets the job done, no matter what it takes."
I knew I was speaking in double-entendres, as I was both flirty and serious at the same time. Was I offering sex at the time? No. But was the thought of him fucking me in the back of my mind? Yes. He was just so much like my husband in voice, attitude and demeanor. And five years without having my needs met with a real man added to the hunger and lack of dignity that I was already feeling.
He had watched the entire simple act of crossing my legs like it was a slow motion action scene in a movie.
He finally replied, a delayed response to be sure, the first tone of something other than business in his tone, "Anything, is a pretty dangerous word."
Allowing my second heel to hit the floor, clearly on purpose, I replied, my tone no longer hiding my growing hunger. "Well, it is a very dangerous world."
His gaze never left my stocking-clad feet as he stood up. He didn't move towards me, just stood above me I assume implying who was in charge.
I could feel wetness starting to form down below at the thought of submission to him, my hunger to regain that clear Dom-submissive relationship I once had. I felt a desire to rekindle a sex life that had long flamed out, from the grief of the death of my husband, and the fear of bringing another man into my children's life.
Finally he spoke. "My secretary must not only be twenty-four seven, seven days a week, they must also be a full-service secretary."
Maybe I can have my cake and eat it too I thought to myself. I looked up coyly, my voice dripping with implication, "And what does a full-service secretary entail?" The answer obvious, the question technically rhetorical.
Ignoring my question, he asked one instead. "You have kids correct?"
"Yes," I answered, surprised by the 180 degree turn, before adding, "but they are both far, far away."
"I hate to be blunt but after what happened with Carolyn I need to know," he started.
I vaguely recalled that Carolyn was his current very pregnant secretary and clarity came crystal clear. He had knocked up his, much younger and fertile, 'full-time secretary.' He was implying if I took the job he was planning on fucking me regularly. My cunt leaked more.
My answer, I assumed, sealed our upcoming relationship. "I had my tubes tied a couple years after the birth of my second child," I revealed, before adding after a lengthy pause, "sir."
The slightest glimmer of a smile flickered across his lips. After a lengthy pause, where time seemed to stop completely, he finally spoke. Ironically, as he sat back down, he ordered firmly,"Stand up."
I didn't hesitate, knowing from experience the true meaning of obedience. I obeyed without protest, without hesitation. Only through utter, complete submission can a true Domme-submissive relationship work. A true submissive gives up all control of their life to their Domme, their Master. I had done that with my late husband.
"Good," his one word approval allowed the long dormant flame below to start to burn. "But be warned I expect obedience and I punish any lack of it," he stressed his eyes boring through me, seeing my need to submit.
"I understand," I whispered, nervous and yet full of anticipation.
"Take your skirt off," he instructed, watching my every move and reacting only with his eyes.
I again obeyed, unzipping the skirt and allowing it to drop revealing so many secrets in one quick second.
I saw a look of surprise on his face; clearly he wasn't expecting the fact that I was not wearing any panties.
My face felt a little red being put in such a compromising position with a relative stranger, yet deep down it just felt right.
"Do you usually go without underwear?" he finally asked.
"Yes, sir," I admitted, again responding submissively. "I haven't worn underwear since college, except of course."
"Yes, of course," he replied, a real smile crossing his face for the first time. "And the thigh highs?" he asked.
"They make me feel sexy, my deceased husband loved them and," I paused, my turn to take brief control, "he liked the, as he called it, easy access to my cunt."
"Hmmmm," he said, if a sound can be considered saying.
Finally, he ordered, "Unbutton your blouse."
"Yes, sir," I obeyed, slowly, seductively, my eyes never leaving his. Button by button my thrill to obey making me wetter and wetter.
He watched intently, no facial expression giving away whether he was excited or bored by my slow striptease.
My last button undone, I smiled just enough to show my excitement that I eagerly wanted more instructions. I waited further instruction as I knew not to make presumptions that he wanted my blouse off. He would decide when I did, not me.
"You understand, of course, that I need to make sure you are a good fit to be a," he paused and used humour for the first time, "member of my staff."
My smile provocative, my tone sexy, and my posture revealing, I answered, "What do I need to do to," I paused for effect, my hand moving close to my wet cunt, "prove my worthiness?"
"You will, of course, stay with me when we travel," he explained all business, again not answering my flirty answer.
"Of course, it would save on travel costs," I agreed, pointing out a sound logical reason for sharing a room.
"And you understand at meetings you may have to do more than just dictation," he continued, giving me every opportunity to back out.
I wondered if he meant I would have to please other men to seal a deal of sorts or if I would be his quickie sexual relief during long negotiations. I briefly reflected on my biggest regret that was not having made my biggest fantasy come true, to be gangbanged. Maybe he could make it come true. Regardless of his intent, I answered as expected, "I am capable of and experienced in all sorts of dick-taking."
My declaration finally convincing and as blunt as possible, he said, "I think you will be an excellent addition to our firm. But first let's see if you and I have a similar definition of dictation."
"What do you have in mind?" I asked, my smile devious, my intent obvious, my cunt burning and my mind spinning.
"Fall to your knees and crawl to me," he ordered.
"Yes sir," I obeyed, gracefully falling to my knees and slowly, hopefully sexily, crawling submissively on my hands and knees to him.
Once at his feet, he looked down at me and asked, "Are you sure you are ready for this?"
I didn't know if he meant the job or the blow job, but the answer was the same either way. Not remotely hiding my hunger to submit unconditionally, I moaned, my insatiable hunger to obey, to please, "Oh God, yes."
"Ready for your first dictation?" he asked, unbuckling his belt.
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